


The Traveling Oddologist

by Nevanna



Category: Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, Ben 10 Series, Danny Phantom, Extreme Ghostbusters (Cartoon), Gravity Falls, Invader Zim, Jackie Chan Adventures
Genre: A Better World (Gravity Falls), Alternate Universe, Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21527830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Dr. Stanford Pines, co-founder of the International Institute of Oddology, takes to the road for a cross-country lecture tour, and meets some of his fellow investigators of the strange and unknown.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	The Traveling Oddologist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1TakeJohnny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1TakeJohnny/gifts).



> My friend reqested this crossover from me last summer. For those who are interested in the details of how it came about, the endnotes contain an explanation, as well as the titles of media that I referenced but which are not included in the fandom tags above.

None of Ford’s instruments have been able to prove conclusively that Dib Membrane is _not_ a version of his great-nephew from another dimension.

Professor Membrane has been a vital part of the International Institute of Oddology’s research and development team since he and his children came through the portal three years ago, and he was less shocked at its existence than he was by their friendships with other human beings. (Well, more accurately, Gaz eventually admitted that she didn’t find Mabel completely intolerable.) Ford was convinced that putting Dipper in a room with a boy his own age, who shares his obsession with the paranormal, could either result in an instant connection or dire explosions. He’s grateful to have avoided the latter scenario so far.

A week before he leaves for his cross-country lecture tour, Ford finds the boys engaged in a DistantChat conversation while Dib waits for his father outside the laboratory. “How could you have sighted Jimmo Shane,” Dib practically shouts at his phone, “if he went underground to live with the mole people decades ago?” 

“Maybe he came back,” Dipper’s voice responds. “Do we have any proof that it’s a one-way trip?”

“He’s supposed to have kept a journal of his life’s work, much like I did,” Ford tells them. “Perhaps you’ll unearth that one, next.”

“Hey, Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper calls from the screen.

“Greetings, my boy. Will I be stopping in Piedmont to collect you?”

“My parents told me that I couldn’t go with you,” Dipper grumbles. “Something about it being ‘the middle of the school year.’”

“Injustice! We could both learn so much more from you and the Explorinators than we could from sitting at a desk and ‘learning’ how to spell words.” Dib, who has never gotten over his suspicion of this world’s spelling conventions (it took him the better part of his first year here to stop including a “k” in “school”), spits out the word “learning.”

Ford blinks. “I’m sorry, from me and the _what_ , now?”

“My father’s virtual community of paranormal enthusiasts,” Dib explains. “Most of them are fans of your work, and he’s already shared your itinerary with them. He says they’re looking forward to meeting you!”

“I’m not sure I’ll have time for…” Ford protests.

“C’mon, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel careens into the DistantChat window. “Didn’t you keep telling Dipper that he should make more friends with other nerds? By the way, Dib, what size shirt does Gaz wear? I don’t want to make her a sweater that doesn’t fit!”

“You didn’t already take her measurements?” her brother asks.

“I tried, but she bit me!” Mabel beams as if she couldn’t imagine anything more delightful.

Something within the lab emits a loud explosion, a flash of purple light, and a curse that Fiddleford almost certainly picked up in the Dark Water Dimension. “I’d better make sure everything is all right in there,” Ford says. “Children, I promise to call you from the road.”

-

Their first presentation goes smoothly enough until the laser-wielding ninja warriors appear in a puff of smoke, interrupting Ford’s explanation of the differences between the energy in cursed doors and that of inter-dimensional wormholes.

“Remain calm!” one of the dark figures shouts above the whispers and cries of panic, brandishing his weapon around the lecture hall. “Let us pass through and nobody will be hurt!”

“The only place you’ll be _passing through_ is the Walk of Shame to an underground cell!” a new voice declares. A young woman with short black hair, also clad in black, sails into the lecture hall upon what appears to be the latest model of hoverboard. Before she can reach the men in the center of the room, one of them shouts, “Shendu shall rise again!” and they vanish as quickly – and malodorously – as they appeared.

Ford’s Arcanometer has been blaring wildly from his pocket. No sooner has he withdrawn it than the newcomer executes a neat about-face, zooms toward him, and plucks the device from his hand. “I’ll bring it back!” she calls over her shoulder as she flies back out the door the way she came. “Thank you!”

As a presenter, Ford could not hope for a more still or silent room. “So, who’s ready to hear more about the properties of the Bottomless Pit?” he asks, as enthusiastically as he can manage.  
.

-

Later that evening, when he steps onto the balcony during the reception, she’s already perched on the railing. “Told you I’d bring it back,” she says, holding out the Arcanometer. “What, you didn’t believe me?”

Ford accepts it. “It takes a lot for me not to believe something, Miss…”

“Agent Chan,” she corrects him. “I’m part of a…special operations team.”

“Top secret?” Ford guesses.

“Tippy-top,” she agrees.

“So you can’t tell me why you needed it.”

“The same reason I need all magic-tracking tech: stopping bad guys.” 

“Like this ‘Shendu’ character?” Ford surmises. “I know a number of spells…” She cuts him off before he can offer to help, which – since he doesn’t really know whose “agent” she is – is probably just as well.

“Oh, he’s long gone, and his worshipers won’t be summoning him back anytime soon.” Agent Chan grins. “When I told some of my… associates… that you were coming to San Francisco, they would not shut up about you. But they did tell me that you Oddologists had your own version of the Chi-O-Matic, so I guess I have to thank them, too.” She gives a little salute. “Maybe I’ll stop by Gravity Falls someday. Hopefully, the world won’t be ending.”

-

Ford gets the chance to use those spells when his train stalls on its way across the Nevada desert. He magically immobilizes the aliens who were batting it back and forth like one of Mabel’s knitted catnip mice, and a nearby RV driver, who dashed into the fray without hesitation, aimed his weapon at the creatures and sent them packing.

The bystander, a heavyset, silver-haired fellow in a loud floral shirt that wouldn’t be out of place in Fiddleford’s wardrobe, turns out not to be a stranger after all: they first met when he brought his grandchildren to tour the Institute years ago. “You seem to attract trouble no matter where you travel, Dr. Pines,” Max Tennyson says with a chuckle. “Need a ride?”

“If I wanted to avoid trouble, I would have chosen a different field of study,” Ford replies. He waits until they’ve bundled his belongings into the RV and are on the road before adding, “You seem to know your way around a Null Void Projector.”

“Comes in handy from time to time,” Max agrees. “Especially when I run into a creature that _should_ be trapped in the Null Void. That’s my second run-in with a Wigsilian this week.” He looks troubled. “Almost makes me think an old friend of mine could be…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

The way he said “old friend” reminds Ford a little too much of his own voice when he finally told Fiddleford about Bill Cipher. He gropes for a subject change, and his eye falls on the photograph of two teenagers that Max has attached to the dashboard. “Your grandchildren have grown,” he observes. Many of his employees have shared photographs or holograms or thought projections of their families, and he’s pretty sure that that’s what he’s supposed to say. “What are their names again?”

“Ben and Gwen, best kids in the world.” Max grins, a little sheepishly. “Then again, I’m probably biased.”

“Well, I have yet to disprove your biases.”

“I know the rhyming names probably sound cheesy, especially for cousins.”

Ford thinks of the names _Stanford_ and _Stanley_ decorating the walls of a childhood bedroom, and shakes his own head. “Not at all.”

“Hope the rest of your trip is smooth,” Max says. “After the way it started out, you deserve that much.”

Ford’s Arcanometer is silent, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. For a certified genius, he’s been known to make some dangerously oblivious choices, such as trusting the first person – or nonhuman entity – to put on a friendly or helpful face when he needs one most… “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lower your hackles, Doc,” Max says calmly. “That business in San Francisco didn’t escape the notice of folks interested in the extraterrestrial, extrasensory, and extraordinary. Besides, if I meant you harm, I could’ve kicked you into the Null Void back by the train tracks. Wouldn’t be the first time I sent a human there.”

Ford relaxes a calculable fraction. “If you say so.” He first had to leap from a moving vehicle when Manotaurs hijacked his car during his first year in Gravity Falls, and it was part of his exercise regime for years. He’s not as young as he used to be, but the landing probably wouldn’t injure him too badly. Still, perhaps the safest and most reasonable explanation really is the truest one. “You wouldn’t know Professor Membrane, by any chance, would you?” 

“Good guess. I figure, a little paranoia is healthy in your line of work.”

“I don’t think you said what _your_ line of work is.”

Max squints into the sun. “Just a retired plumber who still sometimes sees a mess that needs cleaning up.”

-

Ford lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief when he reaches the end of his paper without aliens or magical ninja warriors appearing in the lecture hall at Wisconsin College. “I’ll take questions from the audience now,” he says.

A red-haired woman in the third row raises her hand. “Dr. Pines, I was wondering when your Institute plans to attempt another expedition to the Ghost Zone?”

“Despite our best efforts, Ms. Fenton,” Ford says, “and your invaluable assistance, we’ve yet to determine how long living beings can maintain their structural integrity in such a dimension. And even if one did, whether they’d be able to return samples to the corporeal world for study is another matter.” Several more hands go up. “Next question?”

Maddie Fenton reconnects with Ford when he’s looking for a way to escape the obligatory mingling that has followed each of his presentations. She’s accompanied by a teenage boy with black-framed glasses and a puff of soft black hair, whom she introduces as “my intern, Tucker Foley.” She peers over Ford’s shoulder. “I’ve also brought…”

A very large figure in a glaring orange bodysuit almost knocks Ford down as he barrels between them. “Jack Fenton!” he bellows, seizing Ford’s hand. “Great to meet you! Tucker, take our picture!”

Tucker sighs and takes out his phone. “Say ‘great galloping ghouls.’”

Ford mutters it. Jack trumpets it. “The Explorinators aren’t going to believe this!” he exclaims, unlinking his arm from Ford’s.

“Mr. F, your friends knew he was going to be here,” Tucker points out. “ _And_ that you were.” He turns to Ford. “But if you or Dr. McGucket ever want to log on and say hi…”

“We’ll trade war stories!” Jack enthuses. “I’ll tell them about the time I defeated a ghost in outer space!”

“Now, boys, I’m sure that the directors of an internationally famous paranormal research institute have plenty to occupy their time already,” Maddie puts in.

“C’mon, cupcake!” Jack flings an arm around her shoulders. “If you hadn’t reached out to those eggheads out in Oregon, they wouldn’t have some of their current technology!”

“Or our psychologists,” Ford admits, although, strictly speaking, it was their daughter Jasmine who had originally suggested providing counseling services to his staff. It’s the rare employee or visitor who escapes a ghostly transformation or possession without some mental scarring, and even he has to acknowledge how much of a difference it can make when victims of such ordeals are able to talk to somebody.

“While we’re on that subject,” Tucker says, “you mentioned something about safe travel to and from the Ghost Zone?” He starts typing into his phone again. “I think I know a guy.”

-

By the time he arrives in Manhattan, Ford’s journey has become marked by the same supernatural phenomena as his workdays in Gravity Falls: from a self-duplicating criminal in Dakota City (thwarted by the superheroes Static and Gear), to a marriage proposal from a clone of Cleopatra who saw Ford’s wedding ring as the opposite of a deterrent. His list of items for his research team to investigate is growing with every stop.

Halfway through his presentation at New York City College, a man leaps to his feet and demands, “You keep talking about communicating with _this_ , and studying _that_ , and I’m wondering when you’re going to lock all the monsters up?”

And Ford realizes that it was only a matter of time before this variety of disruption compounded all the others. “Sir, I’ll answer questions at the end,” he sighs. “However, that one is considerably more complicated than you might believe.”

“Tell that to the monster who moved into my head!” the man spits, and storms out of the room.

Ford has to close his eyes and breathe until the decades-old memory of demonic laughter fades from his own mind and he’s ready to speak again. This time, he doesn’t even try to mingle, and makes his own exit from the lecture hall as soon as he can.

As soon as he’s outside, the head of the parapsychology department catches up with him anyway. “Dr. Pines, I’d like to apologize on behalf of our friend Simon back there…”

“He’s no friend of mine,” Ford snaps.

“You always do that, Egon,” says his research assistant. Her hair is elaborately gelled, and she could probably give Gaz lessons in dramatic eye makeup. “You’re never the one who needs to apologize.” She covers her yawn with one hand. “Right now, it looks like like _I_ am, for not drinking enough coffee this morning.”

“Kylie, you were up for half the night, battling with a… Dream Hipster, I believe that certain parties have dubbed them?” Egon Spengler winks in Ford’s direction. “Nobody would have blamed you for sleeping in.”

“And miss this? Who do I look like – Eduardo?” She scoffs. “I’d say we escaped unscathed, but the Hipster taught some of his puns to the guys before we busted him, so who knows?”

Ford should probably move on, but – as usual – he can’t overcome his curiosity. “Did that Simon character truly have a monster living in his brain? I… he certainly wouldn’t be the first.”

“It wasn’t confirmed until years after the fact,” Dr. Spengler explains. “By that point, he’d become increasingly bitter and paranoid.”

Kylie scoffs again. “Am I the only one who thinks he was like that even in the Before Picture?”

“Still, he never had much of a support system, either.” Dr. Spengler shakes his head. “I think that sometimes makes a considerable difference.”

-

That night, in his hotel room, Ford initiates a DistantChat video call. “How are things at home?” he asks.

“Kitty’s dragon got into another fight with one of the gargoyles, and she had to phase them into the floor,” Fiddleford replies. “Someone reprogrammed Membrane’s alarm system to play the Norwegian theme song, but his kids ain’t tattling, for once. And we’re looking into that flying, size-changing school bus you mentioned.”

Ford allows a small smile. “So, everything’s more or less normal?”

“Sure as sugarplums.”

“Fidds, I wanted to…” Ford removes his glasses for an unnecessary polishing. “To thank you… for all your support over the years, and for everything we’ve built together…”

Fiddleford blinks. “Either you’re drunk, or dying of some wizard’s poison. Or you’ve been called on some dangerous mission that you ain’t allowed to tell your own husband about.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Ford says quickly. “I’m simply reminded sometimes of how things could have turned out if we hadn’t gotten rid of Bill when we did, and if you hadn’t given me another chance.” And sometimes those reminders – whether or not he can prove that they’re actually versions of himself from other dimensions – jump up in the middle of his lectures to yell at him. “If I hadn’t…” He can’t finish. “At any rate, I’m grateful.”

“I sure do love you too, Stanford.” Fiddleford picks out a few familiar notes on his banjo. “You stay weird, all right? I’ll see you soon.”

After he ends the call, and quadruple-checks his notes for the day, Ford begins his first investigation into the Explorinator forums.

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered most of the fandoms in this fic (including _Gravity Falls_ ) thanks to my local cartoon-watching group. Since I joined them almost nine years ago(!), we've encountered a _lot_ of characters who were fascinated by paranormal or extraordinary phenomena, and have developed a loose crossover in which they bonded over their common interests. My friend John requested a fic about their adventures, and it is for his benefit, and the rest of the group's, that I also included shoutouts to other shows we've watched but whose characters don't appear on the page (though if you recognized them, I hope that they made you smile): _Slugterra, The Pirates of Dark Water, Static Shock, Clone High, X-Men,_ and _The Magic School Bus_. This crossover was, among other things, a love letter to a social activity that has made my life better in more ways than I can name. <3


End file.
